


the mermaids singing, each to each

by Siria



Category: Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-04-18
Updated: 2009-04-18
Packaged: 2017-10-03 19:54:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siria/pseuds/Siria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dr Sherman frequently gives her advice on how best to establish a better maternal relationship with Savannah.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the mermaids singing, each to each

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Trin for betaing.

Dr Sherman frequently gives her advice on how best to establish a better maternal relationship with Savannah. He is quite insistent that she spend a significant amount of time with Savannah each day, and does not seem to understand when she explains to him that she has an ongoing project at work which requires a significant amount of her attention.

"Mrs Weaver," he says, leaning back against his desk and folding his arms, "sustained interaction is always important, but after a trauma such as Savannah has suffered—such as you have suffered—" He pauses and the expression on his face changes.

She calculates that it is a result of discomfort. The probability is that he requires acknowledgement of the veracity of his statement. "My husband's death was very upsetting," she says, and tilts her head a fraction to the right.

"Yes," he replies. His voice is fractionally slower than normal; he seems to be assimilating new information. She watches him. Dr Sherman does not approve of her reply.

"But I would welcome any input you might have as to how Savannah and I may become better friends." To establish a rapport and encourage agreement, it is best to smile; Dr Sherman does not respond in kind, but the set of his shoulders relaxes by a fraction.

"You might want to try setting aside an hour a day to play with Savannah," Dr Sherman says. "Or maybe a regular story time session before she goes to sleep. Storytelling can help build stronger family ties, improve speech and language skills, pass on important life lessons... Savannah tells me that your husband used to read to her on a regular basis."

She does not know if this is true, but Savannah is a child who is given to veracity. She calculates that if Dr Sherman is telling her this, it is linked to their main topic of conversation; it is important that Lachlan Weaver regularly read to his daughter. "Yes," she says. "He often read to her." She makes a connection. "Do you think that I should continue the practice, Dr Sherman?"

"I think it would be a start, yes," he tells her. His exhaled breath is unusually loud; this is probably exasperation.

"Well then," she says. "Let us start as we mean to go on."

Her heels click as she walks along the hallway from Dr Sherman's office to the room where Savannah is playing. During one of their earliest sessions, the doctor had told her that he had designed the playroom to create a safe environment for the children, so that they would not be afraid to talk to him about their anxieties—the toys were there to distract and draw out; the soft colours to soothe and gentle. She has made a note of these facts; the nature of their immediate surroundings seems to be important to many of the people she questions.

Savannah is putting together a jigsaw. When fully completed, Weaver projects it to be of a circus clown. She sits down on the low couch and pats the seat beside her, once. "Savannah," she says, "come sit next to me."

Savannah does so straight away; she has been well trained. Without turning her head, Weaver knows that Dr Sherman is standing in the hallway, watching them both through the window. There is also a recording device in the room, wired for both audio and video reception; it is hidden behind a mirror. She bends forward and picks up a book from the table. It is large, with a colourful cover of a small female child in the middle of a forested area.

"I am going to tell you a story," she tells Savannah. "Like your father used to. Would you like that?"

Savannah nods, seemingly eager but not speaking.

"Good," Weaver says. She opens the book to its index page, where the titles of several stories are listed. The print is large and dark, suited for a child's eye. "Which story do you wish me to read to you?"

Savannah points, after a brief hesitation, to the third story in the volume.

"_The Little Mermaid_," Weaver says. "A classic choice, Savannah."

She begins to read. Weaver knows of no evidence, anthropological or archaeological, that mermaids ever existed. They are a 'fairy story'—a fantasy—an invention of humans to help them achieve a more important goal, to impart a necessary truth. Such mediation seems to be a requirement of the species; it was the intent behind her own model, after all.

She reads, prioritising the inflection of her voice as the narrative seems to require it. With Dr Sherman watching, she refrains from annotating the text for Savannah's benefit, though she notes several factual errors or misleading statements: depending on the angle of light refraction, water in the open ocean frequently does not appear to be the shade known as 'cornflower blue', nor does coral grow on the ocean floor. Weaver can verify this with independent observation, but the probability is that this was not the specific type of life lesson which he wished her to impart.

Instead, she focuses on emphasising, with tone and with use of the colour illustrations, those points of the text which she thinks will prove most useful to Savannah in the future. The five sisters, each sent up from their deep ocean home to observe, followed by the sixth, who would interact with the humans and pretend to be one of them; the sixth, who was compelled to seek out the prince; the sixth, who sought for herself the ability to know God.

"She has red hair," Savannah says, pointing to one of the pictures, "Just like you do, mommy."

"Yes, that's right," Weaver says. She places the palm of one hand against the gentle curve of Savannah's small spine. It is good that the child is beginning to appreciate the power of metaphor. Weaver has often found it an efficient tool for conveying to people that even those very dissimilar may share a common goal: had used words to make one thing seem like another; had reshaped her body over and over, alike and un-alike, a metaphor in motion. This is her purpose.

She reads to Savannah about the mermaid making a pact with the witch. Compromise, however temporary it may be, is a skill which Savannah will need before the Day. "Your tail will divide and shrink until it becomes what the people on earth call a pair of shapely legs," she recites. "But it will hurt. Everyone who sees you will say that you are the most graceful human being they have ever laid eyes on, for you will keep your gliding movement and no dancer will be able to tread as lightly as you. But every step you take will feel as if you were treading upon knife blades so sharp that blood must flow."

She feels Savannah shiver next to her, and her pulse rate increases. The child is afraid. "I don't like that," Savannah says, and shakes her head. "I don't like that she has knife feet."

"Well, I'm sure that few people would." Weaver lowers her voice by a fraction, and inclines her body towards Savannah; a soft voice and bodily closeness encourages a sense of intimacy. "We shall just have to hope that it serves a purpose in the story."

Savannah looks up at her with wide eyes. The dilation of her pupils is equally likely to be either interest or fear. From the hallway, Dr Sherman is still watching them.

"Would you like to know how the story ends?" Weaver asks Savannah. "It contains several life lessons that will aid your comprehension skills as you get older." It is very important that Savannah, like her other projects, takes full advantage of the formative influence Weaver will have on her.

"Yes, mommy," Savannah says.

Weaver looks up at Dr Sherman. From the other side of the clear glass, she offers him her very best smile for several seconds before she turns back to Savannah—there is a lesson to complete.


End file.
